America the Beautiful
by Girl in Midair
Summary: America is beautiful, he thought, but this thought, like so many others, was quickly chased out by emptiness.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: You know the score (they're J.K. Rowling's and not mine).  I like emotional situations. I wrote this story over two weeks; the shape of it changed a thousand times. I rather like the end product, and I hope you do. The title makes no sense for a long time, so don't worry too much about it. I took a few liberties; writers do that sometimes. xD

-America the Beautiful-

                Hermione sat silently, meditatively, in front of the mirror. Her intelligent dark eyes gazed back at her from their thick frame of lashes. Her wild hair had been tamed, parted deeply on one side and swept into a knot at the nape of her neck. A white cluster of glowing fairy-flowers ornamented it.

                She fastened a near-invisible chain around her slim throat, a tiny golden lion that Ron and Harry had given her for Christmas during their final year at Hogwarts Academy. They had both hunted long and hard for it, and had bought it together, and she adored it. She trailed her fingers over the charm and tried to smile. Too nervous to smile. Save the smiles for later, when everyone could see them.

                _Not everyone, a bitter voice reminded her. Abruptly, her eyes filled with tears, unshed and sparkling, trembling on her eyelashes. She rose quickly, white satin whispering against her skin; she was unwilling to watch herself indulge in a bit of misery on such a day. It was about time, really, that something good happened. Hermione felt her tears spill over and trickle down her cheeks, pooling in the corners of her mouth. She let them come._

                Seven months. Seven long months spent at Grimmauld Place, walking its dismal halls every day, never allowed to leave, even now. Staying in secret-- one never knew who one could trust. Dark Wizards were declaring themselves everywhere, and Voldemort's power grew stronger every day. Hermione began to understand how Sirius must have felt, so many years ago (had it been nearly six, truly?), secluded there, never even allowed to nudge a toe over its threshold. Staying put when so many others were in danger.

                And Harry...

                Hermione clamped a hand on the back of her chair to steady herself, putting the other over her mouth and nose to stifle a soft sob. The smooth planes of her face became lined with grief, and she allowed herself to cry.

                She couldn't know where Harry was, wasn't allowed to know... didn't want to know. Ron would not have told her even had she dared to ask. She could see the determination in his clear grey eyes. He was still Ron, still quick to anger and to argument, still with that same strange charm, but there was a sense of duty about him now, worn with pride for the task that had been delegated to him.

                Hermione had helped perform the Fidelius Charm eight months before, and then had quietly asked to have her memory altered. Secret-Keeping was not a job for more than one person, she'd said, and she didn't want to be an extra danger to Harry. She knew she'd performed the Charm, and she knew that it had been on Ron... but the secret remained secret to her... and Harry was gone.

                A month after the charm had been performed Albus Dumbledore summoned Hermione to his office at Hogwarts. When she arrived, it was to find Ron and his sister Ginny waiting with the ancient Headmaster. Ron was the same as ever, but somehow very different-- the bright mischief in his eyes seemed to hide a deeper secret. But he was still Ron, his voice the same, his smile the same, his undisciplined hair the same. She had realized with a bit of a jolt how proud she was of him. He had taken her hand; she had let him. Ginny had looked terribly nervous, but she had smiled at Hermione, and it was the same smile Ginny had always smiled. Dumbledore's wise blue eyes had been devoid of their usual twinkle, a grave light in them, and Hermione had realized for the first time that Albus Dumbledore was a very old man. 

                "I have called you here to insist that you both go into hiding alongside Ron." Dumbledore's voice, creaky as old leather, still resounded in Hermione's head. "They suspect you all. Any one of you could be Harry's Secret-Keeper... Ron in his loyalty, Hermione in her intelligence, Ginny in her devotion. You are all in great danger. For Voldemort must never know the secrets you guard, with or without the Fidelius Charm to hold them in place. Your going underground will mean both your safety and confusion among Voldemort's followers as to whom the true Secret-Keeper is."

                They had all assented, solemn and quiet. Hermione didn't regret it... not a moment of it. She only wished things could have been different, somehow. That Harry...

                A sharp rap on the thick oak door startled her. Her hands flew to her cheeks, fingertips hastily brushing away the traces of her tears. She cleared her throat.

                "Who is it?"

                "It's Ron."

                "Ron?" Hermione hurried to the door, pressing her cheek on the old, rough wood. "You can't come in, you git!"

                "Hermione... you sound... have you been crying?" Ron sounded worried, though there was a teasing note in his voice.

                She hesitated, running her thumb along the cool, worn brass of the doorknob.

                "Yes," she finally said, rather chokily.

                There was a very long pause, long enough to make Hermione wonder if maybe Ron had gone... but she heard him clear his throat and shuffle his large feet. She pictured him on the other side of the door, perhaps leaning against it in much the same manner she was, his bright shock of copper hair unruly as always (she had asked him not to cut it specially, because he wouldn't look like _him if he did). She thought she might begin to cry again._

                "It's okay." Ron's voice was quiet and very gruff. "I miss him, too."

                Another silence.

                "If Ginny catches you--"

                "She won't."

                "Hadn't you better finish getting ready?"

                "Everything's done."

                "Well, then I--"

                "I love you." 

                Hermione pulled away from the door, looking at it as if she could see Ron through it. They did not use the phrase often; they did not need to. It was precious as a jewel to hear him say it.

                When it had come to love, they had both known it, but it was their pride (always first and foremost) that had kept them living under the same roof without confessing. Hermione certainly wouldn't until Ron did; and it was almost definite that he felt the same. There was no change in their behaviour toward one another. They were still the same friends who quarreled until Hermione fled in tears and Ron slouched on the sofa grumpily, then made up an hour later and were all smiles again. It had been she who had negotiated her pride first, she who had extended her heart on her sleeve with her head turned away, eyes squeezed tight shut, unable to watch it if it dropped.

                They had been sitting in the parlour one night that previous winter, comfortable in the warmth of the merry blaze in the fireplace. They shared the same sofa; she at one end, devouring a book about manticores (though she had read it twice before), and he at the other, _The Daily Prophet_ spread wide before him. Very suddenly, Hermione couldn't stand it for one more moment. Without looking up from her text, she queried casually:

                "Are you in love with me?"

                She was greeted with silence. She chanced a glance at him. He hadn't looked up either, but his jaw muscles were tight, his eyebrow raised a bit. He looked entirely at a loss, and swallowed heavily.

                "Er. Yes," he said nonchalantly, and turned a page. Their eyes met for one brief, electric moment... and they both leaped to their feet and mumbled excuses, making their escape.

                The next day, as she had come downstairs for breakfast, she felt his large, dry hand engulf her own much smaller one. She could feel how icy-cold his skin was, how nervous he must be.

                "Hermione... er... don't you love me, too?"

                "I love you," she answered no, just as she had then, and she found a smile was not so hard to come by anymore.

                "RON WEASLEY! What are you about?! Get away from that door!"

                "Ginny," Ron and Hermione said together, he with chagrin, she with amusement.

                "I'll see you soon," he promised, and then she knew he had gone, because Ginny came in shaking her head in disgust. Hermione laughed.

                "No harm done," she reassured the girl, whose hair was bright as a new penny.

                "That's not the point," Ginny grumbled good-naturedly. "Here, the flowers in your hair are falling lopsided. Sit down and I'll fix them."

                Hermione sat down in front of the mirror again, and Ginny came to stand behind her. Nimble fingers tugged and tucked at the iridescent blossoms, and the girls shared a smile in the reflection. Ginny bent and encircled Hermione's shoulders with her arms, resting her head next to Hermione's dark one. China-blue eyes and chocolate-brown ones glimmered with unshed tears.

                "Oh, Hermione, no... don't cry!" Ginny laughed a bit. "Your eyes were all red when I came in, you don't want them that way... I know you're marrying my brother, but really, he's not all bad."

                Hermione laughed through her tears, bringing her hand up to squeeze Ginny's arm lightly. They gazed at one another in the mirror, almost-sisters. Ginny had been the bravest of them all, keeping her chin up, never saying how she wished things could be different. She had loved Harry more than anyone... not more, perhaps, but differently, more closely, and she still did. His memory was sacred to her.

                "All right, leave off, won't you?" Ginny said, amused. "Pull yourself together for the tragic event that I am about to witness. One of the most brilliant witches in the world is marrying a complete baboon."

                "I happen to _like_ baboons, thank you very much."

                "I'm happy for you, Hermione," said Ginny, suddenly quite solemn. "And... and I know that Harry is, too."

                Hermione found that she couldn't speak. Before she had the chance to try, Molly Weasley and Moira Granger were bursting through the door, smiling widely, fluffing at her simple white-satin silhouette, pressing a handkerchief into her hand, kissing her cheeks, whisking her off downstairs. She allowed all this, quite bewildered and Ginny followed, not bothering to dry her tears.


	2. Chapter Two

                "Oh... it's beautiful." Hermione could hardly catch her breath, between her apprehension and the dizzying journey by Portkey. The garden was exquisite, its lily pond smooth as glass, the hedges that few on all sides dense and thick, their green mass impenetrable.

                "We weren't going to let you get married in that dismal thing Grimmauld Place boasts as a back garden." Molly Weasley sounded huffy, as if the dreary house had done something to personally offend her.

                "Certainly not," Moira Granger echoed, giving Hermione's hand a warm squeeze.

                "Can you imagine Sirius's mother?" Ginny lifted her voice high, screeching in a fair imitation of the portrait in the front hallway at Grimmauld Place. "Hellfire and damnation! A sin against the wizarding world! That knock-kneed little boy marrying that wretched little Muggle? Keep the bloodlines pure, I told them, keep them  pure, but did they listen? No! Not a word--"

                Hermione was laughing, but Ginny stopped abruptly, her eyes filling with tears as if she hadn't realized what she'd been saying. Molly suddenly looked grave, and she darted Ginny a look that quieted her. Moira was solemn as well, and Hermione let her laughter subside. A year ago, Ginny's impression would have been very funny indeed... but now, it seemed distasteful. Ginny gave Hermione an apologetic look, and Hermione tightened her hand around Ginny's fingertips. She knew Ginny hadn't meant anything by it.

                "Anyhow," Molly said brusquely, if a bit chokily. "Nobody will find us here. You're all safe."

                The anticipation Hermione had been feeling turned into a sick nervousness... she had been so involved in her own joy that she had forgotten the danger they were putting themselves in, merely to have a memorable day. She felt her heart begin to pound against her ribcage. Not only were she, Ron, and Ginny in danger, but everyone else as well. Dark Wizards were everywhere, all of them pure-blooded or "purified", as they called the painful process of making themselves clean and untainted in Voldemort's sight. Muggle-born wizards were killed on sight, and no amount of purifying made them acceptable to the Dark Lord. Muggles and wizards that kept company were executed.

                "Mum," she whispered tensely. Moira did not look down at her, but she tightened her grip on her only child's hand. She fully knew the worst that could occur, Hermione was sure, and she was determined to see it through anyway. 

                "Don't you worry, Hermione," said Ginny. "We'll be home in twenty minutes at the most. We'll be perfectly safe."

                Hermione didn't have a chance to respond, however, because just then her father appeared. Ian Granger was tall and confident, broad of shoulder, a pleasant contrast to his vivacious yet somewhat plain wife. He came to stand by his two women, wrapping his arms around their shoulders. Hermione looked up at him questioningly.

                "Everyone is here," he said. "If we want to go down the path and round the corner, they can come out here and we can get this underway. What do you say, Hermione?"

                She assented with a numb smile, and Ginny accompanied them behind the hedge while their mothers found seats on the chairs Molly had conjured up. Hermione put her arm through her father's, and his enormous hand blanketed her own small, trembling one. Ginny peeked round the corner briefly.

                "All right," she said, turning her head back to the nervous pair behind her. "Professor Lupin and Ron are out there, and everybody's in place. I just wanted to make sure those flowers in your hair were still all right." She tucked at the glowing clusters of petals again, and then threw her arms around Hermione, pressing her already damp cheek against Hermione's pale one. "This only happens once. Don't you worry about anything but what's at the end of the path, do you hear me? This is _yours_, Hermione. Don't you dare let _them_ take it from you. Don't be afraid."

                Then she was gone round the corner, no doubt to take her seat alongside her parents and brothers, and Hermione was left with a newfound courage. She brought a hand up, touching the lion charm on its chain. _This is my day. They can't have it. They took everything else, but they are _not_ taking this from me. She squared her shoulders... and her father led her out onto the path._

                Ron was standing there, just down the stony walkway. His shoulders were thrown back, his expression jovial but a bit pale as he stood next to Remus Lupin on the steps of the pond. Hermione felt a real, true smile burst onto her mouth before she bid it to, and Ron's answering grin gave her all the heart she needed. She and her father proceeded down the walk, and as they neared the lily-pond, Ron came forward to take her hand. She knew her mother was crying, and Molly was, too; she had seen Ron's twin brothers, Fred and George, give her the thumbs-up as she had passed, and Ron's father, Arthur, was beaming. Everything was a blur, but she could feel her own smile and see Ron's face, and she had her father's steadying hand under her arm until he gently delivered her to Ron's care. 

                Ron led Hermione up three stone steps, until they were standing just below Remus. Their hands were so tightly clasped that their knuckles were white, and Hermione's fingertips felt cold, but somehow it didn't matter. Ron was the one holding her hand, and that was what counted. Remus smiled down at them. That abiding sadness never left his warm eyes, nor the weariness his face, but they seemed to have fallen back to allow him this, the most important spell he had performed in a long while. The wedding spell was potent and binding, and no matter if the couple grew to despise one another through their years, the spell could never be broken. They would always be connected to one another.

                "Are you ready?" Remus asked them. In unison, they nodded, and the ceremony began.

                Hermione, later, couldn't remember much. She thought, with a bit of humour, that it was probably the first time in her life she couldn't remember something. All she knew was Ron's hand holding her steady, and Ron's voice as he firmly repeated what Remus asked him to. Hermione's own voice had been clear and fluting, echoing the vows of loyalty and love. She remembered several potions being passed between the two of them, one that tasted positively bitter, while the rest were quite pleasant. She remembered Remus uttering a long incantation, and adding some sort of a protection charm at the end that Hermione knew was not commonly part of the rite. 

                Then everyone was clapping, and Fred and George were catcalling, and Ron turned her to him and smiled. His arms were familiar and strong about her waist, still with that boyishness he would never lose, and she felt as if her heart would burst from her chest and skip across the lily-pads in the pond in pure joy. She slipped her arms round his neck and they kissed, falling deeply into the comfort of knowing that at last, they belonged to one another, that the vows of safety and love they had made were impossible to break. Hermione felt tears flowing down her cheeks, unfettered streams of delirious happiness, and she couldn't help it. She laughed. But it was all right, because Ron was laughing, too, and everyone else was laughing. And then Ron kissed her again, and the whole world disappeared.

***********

                "No, really, I thought I might be sick," George was reassuring Ron and Hermione as the party reassembled in the garden of Grimmauld Place. "Weddings were never much my style, much more prefer funerals--"

                "Better chance to scare the bloody hell out of the family, ay, George?" Fred said, winking. Fred and George were veteran pranksters, and had terrorized the halls of Hogwarts Academy for nearly seven years before they'd decided they had had enough of school and had left for good. Molly Weasley clucked her tongue at her twin sons, giving them both a good sharp prod in the behind as Arthur deposited the Portkey into his pocket, a rather nondescript leather wallet he'd somehow got hold of.

                "You leave Ron and Hermione alone," Molly scolded the pair of flame-haired twins, but they were all laughing.

                "Oh, we'll leave Hermione and Ronniekins alo-one," Fred said, wiggling his brows at Hermione suggestively. 

                "Yeah, Mum. Maybe you'd better come with us," said George, feigning concern. "I'm not exactly sure you want to stay around for this."

                "Oh, come off it," scoffed Ron, for both he and Hermione had become visibly more crimson in the face, and Hermione was shaking her head in hopeless amusement at the twins. She couldn't recall them ever being serious about anything, and she didn't think they ever would be.

                "I wish Professor Lupin  hadn't left," Hermione said sadly. "He always seems to be running off nowadays."

                "He's a busy man," Molly chided gently. "You're lucky he was able to perform the ceremony."

                "There's cake inside. I made it," Moira said happily, as she and Ian approached, holding hands. Hermione had noticed this among the married couples; weddings seemed to encourage romance... or perhaps renewal, becoming a whole person. Hermione had never considered herself incomplete until she had discovered she was in love with Ron, and now... she simply squeezed his hand. He smiled down at her.

                "Mum," he said to Molly, briefly taking his eyes from Hermione's, "we'll be in in a few minutes. Go ahead and start without us. I'm going to take a walk with Hermione."

                Molly smiled at this, and Ron and Hermione escaped before she could begin pinching her twenty-two-year-old son's cheeks and calling him "her little Ronnie, all grown up" as she had been prone to do the last few weeks.

                There was an old rose arbor toward the back of the garden, its wood soft and weatherworn, the rose vines having long taken over the place for their own. Hermione had sat there often to study, or sometimes to write letters, or less frequently to cry. This was where they went, vanishing under the protective, latticed shadows.

                They walked in silence for a few minutes, arm-in-arm, the only sound the murmur of Hermione's gown on the grass. Finally Ron broke the silence.

                "You're wearing the necklace," he observed mildly.

                "Yes," Hermione replied just as neutrally, but she made the mistake of looking up at him. Ron's grey eyes were cloudy. 

                "Don't look like that," she pleaded with him. 

                "Like what?"

                "As if... as if the whole world's gone wrong."

                "Are you mental? Of course it hasn't." He gave her a genuine smile then, a lopsided little grin... but it faded quickly and he fell back to brooding. Hermione knew he was happy, as she was, but the fact still remained that their celebration could only be brief. She drew closer to his side, until she could feel the warmth of him through the light fabric of her gown. She bit her lip, and a hand came up to pluck at the tiny golden lion, dangling just beneath her collarbone.

                "It isn't bloody fair," Ron burst out suddenly. They stopped walking.

                "What isn't?" Hermione asked, though she knew perfectly well.

                "It wasn't supposed to happen like this, Hermione," he said stubbornly. "It isn't supposed to be this way. It isn't right."

                "What happened _happened_, Ron. You can't change it," she said quietly.

                "We should have been there!"

                "It's not our fault. There was nothing we could have done--"

                "We could have stopped it, we could have done something for Harry..."

                "Ron." Hermione's voice was level, calming. "Stop. Just stop. Stop doing this. Harry wouldn't want this."

                "Harry doesn't know what he wants," Ron said bitterly, kicking at a clump of grass. Hermione felt her heart freeze inside her ribcage, but she pressed on.

                "He knew he didn't want to go into hiding. He knew he could trust you as his Keeper, Ron--"

                "As Keeper of what, Hermione? What am I keeping? Dumbledore only asked us to do this for one reason, and that reason was to throw off the Death-Eaters and Vol-Vol..."  
                "Voldemort."

                Ron shivered. "Yeah. To throw them off. To make them think there's still a threat. There isn't. They've won."

                "But Voldemort-- _really_, Ron-- doesn't know that. He doesn't know what's happened. But it isn't about them!" Hermione felt herself growing passionate, a fire burning inside her, frustrated with Ron that he never quite seemed to _get it_. "This is about protecting Harry because he is our friend. We're not protecting the Boy Who Lived. We're protecting the boy you taught to play wizard's chess, the one who used to cheat off my History of Magic homework. We can't do anything about the world anymore, Ron, because it's bigger than us now-- but we can do something about Harry, and that something is keeping him safe! Maybe, someday, something will come of it... because that wasn't the end, Ron! The prophecy said... it said that one of them had to die, and _neither of them did!"_

                She realized that she was crying again, and that she had let go of Ron's arm and they stood facing one another now. She wiped her cheeks messily with the backs of her hands, staring at the grass between Ron's shoes.

                "C'mere," he said gruffly, and swung her to his chest, cradling her there and resting his cheek on her hair. She cried against his shoulder, soaking the fabric of his shirt, and she instinctively knew that he was crying as well, though he tried so hard to be nonchalant about it, swallowing heavily.

                "Hermione! Ron!" Molly's urgent voice floated through the overgrown weave of branches. Ron straightened up and hastily swiped at his cheeks with his sleeve, while Hermione studiously stared at the ground and wiped her own. _Married now, but forever the same, she thought, and it comforted her._

                "I suppose my mum made them wait so we could cut the cake," Hermione said. Ron looked back at her and raised an eyebrow.

                "Muggle customs are mad," he said, amused, and took her hand again. "What does it matter if we're there for the cake or not? It's--"

                "Hermione! Ron!" Molly called again insistently.

                "You'd think we were still in first year, the way she carries on sometimes..."

                "Come on," Hermione said urgently, giving his hand a light tug. "I'm hungry."

                They began to walk back toward the house.

                "Y'know," said Ron in a mulling-over sort of voice, "I still wish I'd been there."

                "Me, too," Hermione amended softly, and then their silence was mutual and contented, knowing they were on the same plain, that they both had regrets. As they neared the back door, Hermione smiled suddenly, putting a spring into her step and leaping onto Ron's back. This was so unlike her that Ron let out an exclamation of surprise, staggering slightly under her sudden weight with a "Bloody hell, Hermione...!"

                "Muggle custom," she announced. "You have to carry me over the threshold."

                "Mad," he protested, but he was grinning anyway. He adjusted her weight and swung open the door, traipsing inside the house with her laughing, her arms wrapped about his shoulders.

                The first thing she saw was a blinding flash of green light... and then she was on the kitchen floor, Ron's weight half on top of her, a crushing pain in her neck and shoulder and in her leg. She blinked dizzily, reaching for Ron, checking him with a touch of her hand, before her eyes cleared and she looked up.

                "Malfoy," she gasped in surprise. 

                Draco Malfoy stood before her, still with that sneer he wore like a prize ribbon, still with that widow's-peak of platinum hair. His blue eyes were flat and cold.

                "It's a whole den of Weasels," he said nastily, raising an eyebrow at Hermione. "And look what they've drug in. A little Mudblood."

                "What the hell are you doing here, Malfoy?" Ron growled, clambering to his feet. He seemed unhurt, just winded, for Hermione's body had broken his fall.

                "Come to pay a little visit to the lovebirds," he said, as if surprised they hadn't expected him. "I thought I'd bring you a little present, perhaps."

                Hermione felt cold inside as she got to her feet, staggering a bit. How had Malfoy found them? What was going on?

                "Ginny?" she called, moving toward the parlor and drawing her wand from a deep pocket in her gown. "Mum? Dad?"

                "Hermione, don't!" Ron leaped for her, jerking his wand from his sleeve.

                There was an eruption of incantations, of flashing lights and waving wands... and when it was over, Hermione and Ron were standing side-by-side, devoid of their wands, facing down a row of five men and women. Hermione recognized some of them; Malfoy was one, and two of the women were Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode. The other two were complete strangers, one man and one woman, and they all had the same wry smile.

                "You were always good, Granger," said Pansy, sniggering and waving Hermione's wand like a prize. "It's nice to see you haven't lost your touch." As if sharing some private joke, the five of them laughed. 

                "Oh, but she's not a Granger anymore," Malfoy simpered. "She's a Weasel, now. Don't they look so blissfully happy?"

                "Where is everybody?" Ron demanded. 

                "They abandoned you, Weasley," sneered Malfoy, and Ron clenched his fists. Hermione was afraid he was going to lunge.

                "They all ran for the hills, really, after we came round the corner. We managed to get in a few good curses on the Muggles, but they Disapparated with the Weasel clan. Your mum was terrified, Weasley, you should have seen it... the way she yelled for the two of you..."

                _She was trying to warn us, Hermione realized, just as understanding dawned on Ron's face as well. The urgency in Molly's voice had been about far more than cake-frosting being ruined by a long wait._

                "Too bad," mused Malfoy. "We could have had a nice little celebration with your parents, Hermione..."

                "Shut up," she growled. She had never borne Malfoy's smarmy ways in school, and she wouldn't begin now. 

                "Come into the parlor," Malfoy ordered, and every wand was trained on Ron and Hermione as they reluctantly stepped forward, so close together that their arms brushed one another.

                _'Come into the parlor,' said the spider to the fly, Hermione thought... and then she noticed the many pairs of feet in the room, underneath the hems of many black robes. Ginny was there, between two hooded figures, the tips of their wands just inches away from her skin. Hermione looked up quickly, taking in the cruel, expressionless faces of those present... and she felt sick inside._

                "Death Eaters," she gasped out, and Lucius Malfoy stepped forward.

                "We're so sorry to drop in on such a lively occasion," he said cordially, though his voice had no feeling, and his S's rustled crisply like tissue paper. "But there seems to be a bit of a problem in all corners, now, does there not?"

                "What d'you mean, problem?" Ron spat out, and his eyes were sparking with hatred. 

                "Why, you're disobeying the Law, after all," said Lucius in his liquid voice.

                "What Law?" Ginny demanded, but she was quieted abruptly. Hermione and Ron were roughly ushered further into the room and shoved to the floor, and Ginny was seated with them, back to back. They leaned against one another, staring outward, as fifteen witches and wizards watched them sharply, their wands at the ready. Lucius took his time in answering, buffing his gleaming fingernails on the sleeve of his robes.

                "The Law that the Dark Lord has brought into our world."

                "What?!" cried three voices in unison.

                "Cornelius Fudge is a coward and a disbeliever," Lucius said, referring to the Minister of Magic. "The moment Voldemort challenged him, he backed down. The Ministry of Magic is under Voldemort's command."

                "B-but..." Hermione gasped out. "That can't happen! Professor Dumbledore--"

                "Is no longer a concern," Lucius cut in smoothly. They all gaped at him in shock, but Ginny was the first to react.

                "You _bastard_!" she roared, lunging at him, but she was brutally knocked to the floor by Millicent Bulstrode. Hermione choked on her shock, simply staring. Ron looked as if he were about to be sick.        "Article One!" Lucius Malfoy's icy syllables cut through the air. "Wizards shall not traffick with Muggles, upon penalty of Death. Article Two. All Muggles in magical places, whether by accident or by design, shall be executed. Article Three. All Muggle-born wizards are impure and filthy, and shall be killed when caught. Article Four. Pure-blooded wizards are not allowed to marry half-blooded wizards or Mudbloods--" this said with a sneer at Hermione-- "under any circumstance, whether they have been Purified or not. In such a case, both partners will be killed. The impure partner will be executed, and any children of such union, for they are unclean. The pure partner will be executed for defying Voldemort's Purity laws."

                "That _isn't _law!" Ginny said desperately, as Hermione paled and Ron swore. "That's just Voldemort and his followers, you're all daft..."

                "I'm afraid, my dear girl, that it is the Law," said Lucius, giving her a patronizing smile. "Times are changing. Now. Let's see if we can separate the wheat from the chaff, shall we? " His voice became like frozen glass, hard and clear. 

                "Which of you is Harry Potter's Secret-Keeper?"


	3. Chapter Three

                There was a shocked, horrible silence, in which Hermione felt as if her heart had truly stopped beating. She knew then what had taken place. In order to go into such protected hiding, the three of them had had to choose their own Secret-Keeper, someone they had all thought they could trust.

                "Neville ratted us out," Ron hissed in fury. 

                "Not quite," said Lucius, and his thin lips tightened. "To his credit, Longbottom was not forthcoming with information. Alas, all it took was fancy footwork- and of course, a bit of pain- to pry the secret from him. He was never a very smart boy, was he?"

                "What did you do to him?" Ginny sounded horrified.

                "Don't you _dare_ talk that way about Neville!" Hermione was surprised at her own ferocity. 

                "Perhaps next time, Miss Granger-- oh, do forgive me, it's Mrs. Weasley now, isn't it? how charming-- perhaps next time you should select your _own Secret-Keeper more carefully. Don't you think?"_

                "We'll never tell you where Harry is," Ginny spat viciously. Lucius moved fluidly to the tight little knot they made, bending down a bit.

                "Of course, _you'll _never tell," he said reasonably, as if Ginny were three years old. "If Potter's true Secret-Keeper had had the chance to get away, as you did... well, really, I don't think I need to say any more."

                There was another silence.

                "Oh, Ginny," said Hermione finally, dismayed.

                "I wasn't going to leave you behind!" Ginny defended herself, realizing her obvious mistake and trying to hold back her tears. "I told Mum and Dad to go. Your parents were hurt-- they would have been killed if they'd stayed another minute--"

                "Enough." Draco Malfoy's voice was cutting and cruel. "We've got work here, and I'm tired of spinning it out. I want Granger."

                "_Mrs. Weasley," Pansy corrected with a snigger, but daggered looks from both Malfoys shut her up. Lucius stood from his half-crouching position and studied his son with a critical eye._

                "Very well," he said finally. Hermione was surrounded by Death Eaters, her arms and legs pinned in their viselike grip, while they lifted her and dragged her toward the fireplace at the other end of the room. She lashed out, kicking and biting, doing everything she could to inflict damage without her precious wand. She realized in a panic that she was nothing without it, that she knew nothing about defending herself unless it was with magic. _Magic fights magic, she reminded herself. __You can't do anything now. Just wait it out. Wait for your chance._

                She could hear Ron shouting and wrestling against the Death Eaters. He seemed to be having better luck than herself-- she heard a satisfying noise as Ron's fist connected with a man's jaw. The man sprawled on the floor, completely unconscious, but the rest of the Death Eaters quickly subdued Ron, who was yelling and bellowing the entire way.

                "_Silencio," said Lucius Malfoy lazily, flicking his wand. The vulgar words ceased to float on the air, but Ron's mouth didn't stop forming them._

                "Now," Lucius continued. "We know that one of you here is Potter's Secret-Keeper. There isn't any use denying it, is there?"     
                "You've got it all wrong," said Hermione acidly. "If you're so certain of Voldemort's power, why are you so afraid that Harry will come back?"

                Lucius's wand hand whipped down, and Hermione flinched, steeling herself for the spell. There was none. A stinging blow landed on her cheek, whiplike, and she could feel the skin split open, the long welt spilling blood down her face. It was somehow more humiliating than a spell could ever have been; she felt as if she were no more than a dog to Lucius, that he couldn't waste his breath with a curse for her. Looking into his cruel mercury eyes, she knew the insult that was implied, and she felt hatred stir inside her.

                "We fear no one," he hissed into her face, so close she could feel his breath, cold upon the fresh blood-tracks on her cheek.

                "You're afraid of Harry," Hermione spat back. "You're afraid because of the prophecy. You're afraid because Voldemort's power could be jeopardized in an instant if Harry decided to fight again."

                _Don't think about it, Hermione, don't think about it... if they only knew... they can never be allowed to know! They can never know they've already won. Oh, Harry..._

Lucius's eyes narrowed, and for a brief second, Hermione knew that he was afraid; indeed, that all the Death Eaters were afraid. They no longer had a will of their own. It was almost as if they were a hive-mind, with Voldemort at the center, knowing every move they made, every step they took, and ordering their lives to his tastes. The marks upon their forearms were nothing but a brand of hatred, a brand that bore nothing of respect and love but of fear and loathing. _A master that cannot be loved is no master at all, Hermione thought, and Albus Dumbledore sprang into her mind. She felt her chin tremble. __Oh, Professor, what should we do? They mustn't know, they can never know our secret._

"What is it?" Lucius whispered, studying her eyes. They had never broken their contact with Hermione's own gaze. "There is something in you. I can see it in your eyes. You guard a secret, Mudblood."

                Hermione lifted her chin in defiance. They mustn't know it was Ron. They mustn't find out. She had to buy them time, buy herself time to think. She remained silent, but she flexed her fists, her arms tight in the grip of the two men that flanked her.

                "She will not speak," Lucius said, straightening up, and his frozen glare never left her face. "She will not speak!"

                A murmur rippled through the gathered Death Eaters. They were smiling-- a frigid, eerily-identical smile that made Hermione shiver down to the marrow of her bones. Ginny looked terrified, while Ron had clenched his jaw muscles so tightly that Hermione thought she could hear his teeth grinding together.

                "_Finite Incantato,"__ Lucius murmured, brandishing his wand at Ron, but Ron kept his silence. Then, with a sharp, jerking motion of one gloved hand, Lucius summoned his son. Draco looked proud of himself as he stepped forward, proud he had been chosen for this task. Hermione did not think that he felt the fear yet... he seemed too fresh, too new to being a follower of Voldemort. Or perhaps he did not feel it because it had been a constant in his life, from the day he was born. Perhaps he didn't know the difference. He spoke in a dulcet tone, almost as if suppressing his glee._

                "_Crucio!"_

                For a moment, Hermione didn't know what had happened. Her body had tightened its every muscle in preparation to receive the Curse of Pain, but it did not come.

                Ron was screaming. She had never heard anything like it. If his body had been split open, his heart drawn from his chest still beating, she knew that his screams then would not equal those of now. She felt as if she might go mad; mad from hearing such screaming, from knowing that it came from the person she loved dearest in the world. 

                She wanted it, desperately. She wanted the pain, to take it away from Ron, to bring the attention away from him. She cried out to him, pleading with him to hold on. Ginny's own begging chimed in, though Hermione knew Ron could hardly hear them over the pain racking his body. Death-pains that would never end in death, but could go on forever if needed. They would go on, those screams, for eternity, echoing in her head, always reverberating, driving her insane...

                "_Crucio!" Draco commanded again._

                "Stop!" Hermione cried. "Stop! Stop hurting him!"

                "He'll never tell you!" Ginny was laughing and crying simultaneously, a wild look in her eyes. "None of us will! You'll never know who the Secret-Keeper is!"

                _They'll break him, a voice whispered in Hermione's head. _No one can stand this.__

"You can, Ron!" Hermione fought against the human bonds that held her, shouting. "Don't give up! Hold on! You can, Ron, you can! Listen to me, hold onto my voice!"

                "_Crucio!"_

                "They're killing him," Ginny said in horror, that terrible flame in her eyes raging.

                Ron was writhing on the floor, limbs twisted at grotesque angles, following the jerking and twisting of his muscles. A circle of Death Eaters stood round him, at a good distance, allowing him room to seize and sprawl whichever way he would. Hermione could not turn her eyes away, though her ears were numb and ringing from the howls that poured forth from Ron's mouth. Draco lifted his wand again.

                "_No!" Hermione screamed, just as Ron's voice formed into coherent words._

                "_It's her!"_

                He was pointing at Hermione.

                "_Finite Incantato!"_

                Abruptly, the room was silent. Ron lay on the floor, tears streaming from his eyes, though he did not sob. Hermione's throat was closed. Ginny had dropped to the floor, simply staring.

                _Don't do this. Don't do this. Don't do what I think you're doing._

"Such a betrayal," Lucius said sadly. He came to Hermione, plucking the flowers from her hair and twirling them between his fingers. He turned back to Ron. "Your wife. Is she the Secret-Keeper?"

                There was a long, excruciating silence. Ron's pained gaze travelled to Hermione, locking with her eyes. He was crying, and she began to sob. She felt as if she would split into a thousand pieces, flying into all corners of the world, never to come back together again, and she didn't care. Without Ron, she didn't care. She pleaded with her eyes, her breath ragged in her throat, her body numb... but she knew there was nothing she could do. He had made up his mind, and she could see the resolve in his haggard face. Tears poured down his cheeks like rivers as he watched her, his gaze like a caress on her cheek. She shook her head, begging him once more not to do it, panic taking her over. It didn't have to be this way.

                "Don't," she managed to say, though it was hardly more than a rustle through the sobs that wracked her. Ron closed his eyes and turned his head away in shame.

                "Yes," he said very quietly.

                Ginny gasped.

                "Very well then," said Lucius brusquely, and the room erupted into motion. Hermione gave into her panic.

                "Ron, don't! Don't do this!"

                "It's the only way, Hermione!" His voice was just as frantic as her own, and Ginny was crying as the Death Eaters lifted her from her position on the floor, hoisting her between them. Ron was being jerked to his feet and pushed toward the other end of the room.

                "_No! Ron, please... please!"_

                "Don't be afraid!" She couldn't see him any more, through the throng of Death Eaters. She could only hear his voice, strong and resolute. He knew what was going to happen, he knew what they were sacrificing. Ginny was next to him now, she could see as the crowd parted, their bright heads aflame in the sea of dark robes. 

                "Ron! Ginny! Don't!"

                "Hermione, don't be afraid." It was Ginny this time, and her voice was soothing. Hermione simply sobbed.

                "Virginia Weasley," one of the Death Eaters intoned. "For the crime of being found in Muggle company and for trafficking with Muggles, shall on this day, the fourteenth of July, be put to death."

                _There has to be another way!_

"Ronald Weasley," the Death Eater continued. "For the following crimes: trafficking with Muggles, marrying a Muggle-born, and intending to bear impure children, shall on this day, the fourteenth of July, be put to death."

                "No," Hermione tried to shout, but it was barely a whisper.

                It all seemed to slow, to draw itself out agonizingly. The mass of Death Eaters drew away from Ron and Ginny, leaving a wide space clear around them. Draco and Lucius Malfoy stepped forward, robes flowing about their feet, their steps purposeful and predatory. With their backs to Hermione, they raised their wands.

                Ginny's chin was high, her gaze otherworldly, no longer landing upon anything in the room. Hermione knew she was thinking of Harry. 

                Ron's face was pale, and he raised his eyes once more. He fixed them on Hermione's stolidly, bravely, and she knew without a doubt that he wanted her face to be his last earthly memory. _I love you, Hermione,_ his voice echoed in her head. 

                "I love you," she whispered, and she knew they both heard.

                They smiled.

                "_Avada Kedavra!"_

                Ron and Ginny lay in two quiet heaps next to one another, unmoving, unbreathing, unblinking. Hermione was perfectly still for a few moments, and then she slumped to the floor numbly in a rustle of satin. She could do nothing but stare... at the lifeless bodies of her dearest friends and newest family. Of her sister... and her own husband. Yes. Ron was her husband. Hers. Hermione's. They, Ron and Ginny, were her family.

                _Voldemort killed my family._

"Let's not draw this out any longer, hm?" Lucius said, putting his wand away, his tone businesslike. Hermione did not look at him. Perhaps if she watched closely enough, she would see Ron's chest rise, or see Ginny's eyelashes flutter... but there was nothing.

                "Where is Potter?" Draco demanded hungrily, a strange light burning in his eyes. "You saw how Weasley writhed. We can do that to you."

                "I don't know," said Hermione dully.

                "Don't play games!" Draco snarled, and the rest of the Death Eaters began to look impatient. There was something like greed in Draco's manner, something despicable and horrifying. Hermione realized dimly through her pain that this had somewhere become more than a childhood rivalry, more than a schoolmate's grudge. Draco hated them all. Draco wanted to see them dead. Lucius, however, was watching Hermione with a different air... one of sharp attention.

                "I. Don't. Know. Where. Harry. Is." Hermione said it slowly, every syllable ringing, every word filled with naked hatred. Draco's eyes sparked, and he strode forward, his wand raised, but Lucius seized his wrist and stopped him. Quietly, he came to crouch before Hermione. A cold, contrived pity entered his eyes as he reached out to stroke her cheek. His voice was soft, almost awed.

                "You are broken. You have nothing left to live for now, do you? Nothing but a lost cause and a cowardly, weak hero. Is there anything to live for, Hermione? Anything for you, or for Harry? Hand him to us... hand him to us, and there will be peace. There will be no more fighting, no more killing. Don't you want to rest? To stop all this unnecessary pain?"

                Hermione raised her glassy eyes to his face, finally taking her gaze from Ron and Ginny.

                "Yes," she said hoarsely.

                "Then tell us where Potter is." Lucius's voice was still hypnotic, still soft. His gloved fingers glided along her hairline, then along her jaw, and raised to repeat the pattern. Over and over. Hermione stared into his eyes, and a strange expression came over her features. Gathering all her remaining strength, she spit full into his face.

                "I won't tell you," she said defiantly, as Lucius leaped to his feet in fury, drawing his wand. Her next words stopped him. 

                "I _can't _tell you, because I don't know. Eight months ago, I helped Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, and Severus Snape perform a Fidelius Charm. I then asked to have my memory altered. Dumbledore asked me to go into hiding because he knew you would suspect me. Because I was always the smart one, I got top marks, I'm the cleverest witch anyone knows of... but Harry didn't choose me."

                "She's lying!" Draco growled, but Hermione could see in his face that he knew it was the truth.

                "He chose loyalty over brains and over love. He chose loyalty over me, and over Ginny Weasley." To everyone's surprise, she smiled then... a pained but victorious smile.

                "He chose Ron."

                "No," Lucius said, realization dawning.

                "Yes!" Hermione's voice was growing louder, more confident. "You killed the Secret-Keeper! You murdered the only person who knows where your worst enemy, where your worst _fear_ is!" She felt a crazed pain in her chest that spread through her like a wildfire. Words poured from her mouth almost without her bidding, blind loathing overtaking her. "Give me Veritaserum, torture me until I can no longer walk, take me to Voldemort himself-- but the Secret died with its Keeper, and that Keeper was Ron Weasley!"

                "She lies!" Draco repeated desperately, but Hermione would not be stopped.

                "You know it's true!" she cried triumphantly, passionately. "Ron was the most obvious, and therefore the least obvious. He was hiding in plain sight... and then you _murdered _him. You will _never find Harry and you will __all live in fear for the rest of your lives, following a Lord that is destined to be stripped of every power he has. __You will never win."_

                "Kill her," Lucius ordered abruptly. The Death Eaters were frozen to their spots, and they hesitated, while Hermione looked round the circle, burning their faces into her memory.

                "Kill her!" Lucius bellowed, his voice harsh. "She is a Mudblood and a liar! Execute her!"

                Before she was shoved to her knees, before the men and women surrounded her, she made eye contact with Lucius. There was a cold blaze of fury in his eyes, and something more. Terror. He was afraid.

                The sea of black robes closed around her. She closed her eyes and bowed her head, and her hand found its way to the fine chain on her neck, its tiny golden lion rearing between her fingertips.

                _You're safe now, Harry. Safe for always. I'm keeping the secret I have to keep. I know you. What's happened won't stop you, it can't. It's your destiny. I know that nothing we ever did was in vain, together or apart. Fight, _Harry. Fight for us. Remember us.__

"Hermione Granger Weasley," the Death Eater intoned, as Draco stepped forward with his wand raised, a terrible shine in his eyes. "For the following crimes: trafficking with Muggles, becoming a witch though Muggle-born, marrying into a pure-blooded family with the intent to bear impure children, and betrayal and trickery of the law, shall on this day, the fourteenth of July, be put to death..."

*************

                _America is beautiful, he thought, but this thought, like so many others, was quickly chased out by emptiness._

                In the twilight, Poppy Pomfrey stood watching him from the doorway. There was a worn roll of parchment in her hand, and she plucked at its corner absently, biting her lip... and then she stepped forward.

                "Harry, dear," she said, her voice light through its grave undertones. She put a hand on the back of his chair. "I've had an owl from Remus Lupin this morning. There's... bad news, Harry."

                He did not reply. Jade eyes stared blankly out the window. Poppy's tears spilled over, and she fumbled for her spectacles on their chain. Once they were settled on her nose, she began to read.

"'17 July.

                "Dear Madam Pomfrey,

                "It is so hard to say what I must, but Harry has to know. We can't be sure he doesn't understand. It will be easier if I write it quickly.

                "Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were killed three days ago. Somehow, a gathering of Death Eaters found them. We do not know what took place... but we do know this: they sacrificed themselves for love of Harry, for their belief in him that he will recover and fulfill the prophecy, that he will remember himself and that this madness can somehow be cured. His secret is forever safe; even I do not know where to find you.

                "This is an act of blind faith, the greatest act of love and loyalty that has been performed since Lily Potter stood between her infant son and the Dark Lord. The protection of love will be ever stronger in Harry's blood for all time, because of this selflessness. 

                "Watch over him, Poppy. Guard him with all that is in you. The many that have passed are not the only ones who have faith in his recovery.

                "Yours,

                                "Remus Lupin.

"P.S. Both of you may wish to know that Ron and Hermione were married on the morning of July fourteenth. I have never seen such a smile on either of their faces. -R.L.'"

                Poppy finished the letter and wiped at her eyes with a snowy handkerchief. She put the short roll of parchment in his lap.

                "Harry," she said. "If you can hear me, if you know what I've just told you... I am so sorry for your loss."

                Very quietly, she went away. His fingers slowly closed round the parchment, his forehead frowning. In the gloaming, a single, solitary tear slid down his cheek, half-imagined.

                He remembered chess and snow, weak tea and long talks, stony walls and an enormous hall filled with people. He remembered a girl with wide blue eyes and smooth copper hair, with a lightning-bright smile and open arms, who made him laugh. Remembered a girl with a mane of brown fuzzy curls and shrewd dark eyes, a mind like a diamond and a heart like a warm hearth on a winter night. Remembered a boy with lively grey eyes and mussy red hair, with a quick wit and sharp tongue, but with loyalty and courage deeper than any ocean.

                The letter fluttered to the floor.

                _America is beautiful, he thought, but this thought, like so many others, was quickly chased out by emptiness._

                He waited.


End file.
